


Single

by aureliu_s



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: But after a one night stand, M/M, my first Thaurens fic, no hate pls, not a smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-15 14:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureliu_s/pseuds/aureliu_s
Summary: John wakes up next to Thomas Jefferson, which is about the least expected thing that’s happened all week.





	1. Chapter 1

John refuses to admit he was piss drunk and heartbroken out of his mind, but what else would lead him to sleep with Jefferson?

Everyone hates Jefferson, that’s the fact. Except Lafayette, his cousin, who lives with him and has been offering promises of his amazing qualities for months now. Hamilton would rip his guts out if he legally could, but John doesn’t care about Alexander anymore after his back-stabbing move and he’s always been indifferent to Jefferson.  
He’s handsome, John would always give him that, with his dark skin and his curls and his sharp beard. Despite Hamilton’s accusations, he’s probably one of the smartest people John’s ever met, and from their minimal conversation time he knows that Thomas is an easy-going but passionate Southerner. He is quiet and observant but loud at the same time, because hell if you put him and Lafayette in a room together they’d throw a two-man Gatsby party. John is almost sure he’s slept with Eliza once and Maria at least five times, but nothing about him gives off the impression of a player. He does know that telling Alexander his treasured love slept with his sworn enemy would make his head explode, even if it was before Alexander dumped John for her and Eliza was fair game.  
And now that John has committed the act himself that both Eliza and Maria indulged in, he can’t say he blames either of them. From the bits John is slowly piecing together in his tired brain Jefferson was good, bigger and better (to every meaning of the phrase) than Alex ever was. Why had he been settling for mediocre all along?   
But he was single now, not a care in the world.  
John glances to the sleeping figure just an arm’s length away from him—he’s fairly sure that Jefferson saves his cuddling and spooning for real relationships, not hookups. He has a strong but lean build, with biceps and abs and pecs that any straight man would be offended by if they didn’t pay a compliment. John distinctly remembers his thigh being rock hard with muscle, and this he credits to Jefferson’s well-known and long-lasting career as a track runner. He’s set a record every year for three years at King’s College, and his name hangs on a cool grey banner in the field house and scattered plaques around the gyms.  
His back is exposed since he’s sleeping on his stomach, the bright light of day outside coming in through the window. It just barely illuminates his bedhead of curls and the slow rise and fall of his chest and shoulders.  
John looks at his clothes, tossed haphazardly around the floor with Jefferson’s own. He worries for a second; he knows Lafayette will be home eventually but a part of him couldn’t care less.   
So John shimmies back under the covers and scoots a little closer to Jefferson, closing his eyes again.  
Just before he falls asleep, he can almost swear he feels warm arms wrap around his middle.

And he’s out like a light.


	2. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wakes up in Lafayette’s grandiose apartment and is now faced with a new task: facing Jefferson...and surviving it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few people (namely a lovely Anon and Rosemind) asked for more and here it is! This won’t really be a series but I had the idea to continue writing so I did. I hope you all enjoy!

When he wakes up a second time, there is solid light coming in from the windows. It’s at least nine o’clock, if not ten. But there’s just one thing missing: Jefferson. John distinctly remembers the way Jefferson spooned him for most of the night, at least. This isn’t much of a surprise, he’s heard Maria talking about it before. Despite the man’s relatively stoic outward appearance, he’s a cuddler.  
A delicious smell wafts to John’s nose, and once he’s fully awake in Jefferson’s bed he recognizes every scent. French toast, eggs, bacon. Breakfast.  
Pushing himself up, John can feel that the spot where Jefferson was is still warm; he hasn’t been gone long.   
He slides himself out of bed carefully, fully aware he’s naked. John sees Thomas’ clothing in a nearby hamper, and his own shirt and pants folded neatly on top of the man’s dresser.   
He grabs for his shirt first, and then fishes his boxers out of his jeans and slides them on.  
A full length mirror on the back of the door catches his eye and he waits to put on his shirt, cautiously stepping in front of the mirror. He can’t imagine Thomas Jefferson ever needing a mirror; he always looks good. But if John is being honest, his ass hurts a little and he wants to know just how bruised and hickey-ed up he is.  
He is surprised to learn, not much.  
There’s a light one at his collarbone, where it could be easily hidden. Each nipple is a little sore when he presses. He knows there’s a few on his thighs, mostly the inside; there has to be.   
This new information adds onto Jefferson’s mysterious character. John’s always thought he would be incredibly rough in bed, merciless and insanely kinky. (From what Lafayette says, his cousin is kinky but keeps it to himself.) But last night it seems he hadn’t received any of that. In fact, it had probably been the greatest sex of his life. Better than Alexander. A delicious mix of gentility and just a sprinkle of the dominating figure Alexander could never match, seasoned with just the right amount of touching and kissing, mixed into a bowl of Thomas Jefferson.

John pulls on his shirt and opens the door. It leads into a small but cozy living space, with a desk it seems the cousins share. A door beside Jefferson’s room leads into Lafayette’s space. There’s a little kitchen, John knows, that has a high table and four high-legged chairs, the ensemble situated in a patch of light in the empty spot of the living area. About three or four yards behind the table there’s a door leading to a bathroom.  
The apartment dorm was spacious—expensive, no doubt, but Lafayette and Jefferson both come from incredibly rich families—and had touches of Lafayette’s inner designer scattered in every room.  
He slides into the kitchen and is almost shocked at the sight in front of him. He’s only seen Lafayette and Thomas side by side once; even then, he was drunk and thought he was just seeing double. But seeing them now, he realizes they’re nearly identical.  
Thomas is a little taller, a little more muscular, a little darker from the Southern sun he spent most of his life under. He is lean but strong, while Lafayette shares some of his muscle but has an elegantly slim aspect to him.  
He also recognizes Lafayette by the pastel pink shorts he’s wearing and the t-shirt; the closest thing to pink he’s seen Jefferson in is magenta. In the back of his mind he calls it symbolism; Jefferson’s magenta is a darker version of it’s cousin, pink.   
His brown eyes shift to Jefferson and he sees the man is wearing leggings. It’s not the first time he’s seen it, but the first time he’s seen it up close. His curls are thrown every which way in bedhead and God, it just makes him look tired and sexy. Lafayette is at the stove and Jefferson is sitting on the counter beside him, scrolling through his phone aimlessly.  
“Mon chou! I am so glad you’re awake. Breakfast will be ready vite vite.” Lafayette chirps.   
Thomas looks up, phone clicked off, to greet John and shit, has he always looked so hot with his glasses on? He sees the man nearly every day with those glasses, only up close they seem to compliment his face even more.   
It takes some determination but John musters up the first words he can think of, staring directly into Jefferson’s near-black eyes.  
“Oh, thanks.”


End file.
